


Two Pisces in Alto Mare

by Nico_Weetch



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: AHÓ!, Bittersweet, Culture Shock, F/M, Light-Hearted, Multi, Poking fun written with love, Pre-Series, Self-Indulgent, Timing can be such a big thing in relationships sometimes - and that's okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-07-08 13:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19870453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nico_Weetch/pseuds/Nico_Weetch
Summary: Barbara has had a lot of fun enjoying her semester in Rome, and with James coming to visit her, her final days of the semester are bound to end on a high note!Little does she know repetitive and curious encounters with a certain tall Tuscan is about to make things a little more interesting.//A light hearted short born from catharsis and an idea of, "huh what if Barbara ran into Walter and didn't even know it?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Although certain Terpsichore aspects and OCs might crop up this fic isn't necessarily canon to the Terpsichore world.
> 
> I might come back and add in not only translations, but also translation notes, some Italian will be written in their respective dialects.
> 
> Suggested listening: 'Two Pisces in Alto Mare' by Pino Daniele

There was an international school on Via Mangili that offered studying abroad courses in joint production with not only John Cabot University, but to Barbara’s college as well.

It was a wonderful opportunity, and something Barbara ‘bullied’ Anna, her best friend, to join in on. For as willing as Barbara was to go alone, she didn’t want to if she could help it.

In truth, for Anna, it didn’t take much convincing. But Anna enjoyed the silly home made cards of doodled pasta and pizzas with glued on googly-eyes.

Anna would end up saving a giddy wine bottle card for a very long time.

For Barbara the semester abroad would be more about studying art, and art history. Studying like a wistful goodbye. It was her own personal final chapter before buckling down with her medical career path. Or so Barbara thought at the time.

For Anna, it was the lack of legal drinking age, and an adventure before also having to buckle down in her own medical studies.

The buildup before the summer semester was torture to the two friends.

Before leaving both Anna and Barbara would check out from their local library as many foreign films to prepare.

Their friend Zach would happily join in on their late night viewing in the dorm.

Together the three of them would good naturally poke fun at the dramatic camera usage of black and white Italian films. Awe at the easy capability of shooting directly on location, leaving much of the audio to be fixed in postproduction. It was this postproduction dubbing (especially when actors spoke in far too thick of a dialect) that would end up being the spring board for the country taking pride in their dubbing in later years.

However, due to Zach’s growing ability of sneak alcohol into the dorms, most of these nuances would be lost to the evening’s drinking games and cheer.

On the plus side, later when Anna and Barbara were in Italy, the two found themselves pleasantly surprised at how much Italian they understood. Especially after two glasses of wine.

Needless to say, Barbara and Anna had a truly memorable experience. They tried to take advantage of every possibility around them, especially how cheap the train tickets were. Using weekends to take two hour trains into Florence, five hour trains to Milan, or an hour and a half train ride into Naples, and so on.

Together they tried very hard not to appear like a couple of tourists, but ultimately embraced it and bought matching fanny packs to boot. Relishing in such awe of the sights around them with such genuine compassion that locals would look up, look to their friend, shrug, and smile welcomingly.

Barbara had such a wonderful capacity to stare wide eyed and win any local over with an open heart and a kiss. As for Anna she tended to win locals over with her sense of trying the strangest dishes in a restaurant and having even the waiter clap her back with cheer.

Despite the amount of times she did try to describe her adventures, mainly to her friends, and family back in the US over Skype. Unforgettable was the only way Barbara would be able to describe it.

Which is why when Barbara heard her boyfriend was coming to visit her in Rome due to fortuitous circumstances, Barbara felt insurmountable joy.

She, Anna, and James could finish the semester on a high note.

Now if only the zit growing near her lip would go away before James got to Italy.

“It’s fine. I don’t see anything.” said Anna that night after hearing Barbara’s cosmetic concern.

“But I _feel_ it’s there!” pressed Barbara.

Anna firmly shooed Barbara’s hands from her face and placed some toothpaste in her hand with a huff. “Dab some of this on it, and it should be fine.”

“Anna…we’re going into medicine.” went Barbara disbelievingly, “This can’t really work.” she paused and looked at the toothpaste. The hopeful desire that it would work present in her blue eyes.Then back at Anna, “Right?”

Anna, with all her undergrad medical expertise, shrugged.

~

After a lot of talking, and almost arguing, James and Barbara decided they would meet under the apartment where Anna and Barbara were staying at. That way Barbara wouldn’t have to drive all the way to the Fiumicino airport and back.

It was a particularly hot day in Rome when James arrived. Moderately out of breath and full of smiles. Helping the kind taxi driver unload his luggage onto the sidewalk.

The neighborhood was far fancier than what James remembered Barbara describing it. Though perhaps he didn’t remember what Barbara said as well as he thought he did.

James couldn’t help but stare at the tall palazzo buildings refurbished into iron gated apartment complexes. With pillars of watching stone lions covered in moss. Walls that cradled fountains with a stone shell basins, and a disgruntled marble fish eternally spitting water.

Ivy and jasmine that crept over around, and perhaps even through the walls themselves. And cars so tightly packed and parked they almost seemed like playing cards.

“Well.” said the driver with a sweaty yellow smile, “Welcome. Your girl is coming?”

“Uh, yeah..” went James, checking his phone in reflex, then looking back at the driver who was drying his receding hairline with a cloth, “Yeah, I sent a message.”

“Good _good_ , you’ll like it here. I Parioli is a good neighborhood. Yes, yes.” and the driver smiled as if knowing a secret.

“Uh, right, cool.”

The taxi driver smiled, waved, and drove off in a cloud of dust that lingered in the hot hair before settling down again.

One of the gates behind James creaked open like the opening minutes of a Scooby-Doo episode, and out sprang Barbara in a flurry of red.

“You’re here! I can’t believe it!! You’re here!!” laughed Barbara hugging James instantly.

In the momentum of their embrace James wrapped his arms around Barbara and swung her around in a circle. Almost tripping off the sidewalk in the process.

“I’m here!! I can’t believe it either!” responded James, putting Barbara down. Putting a lock of red hair behind her ear, James took in the look of Barbara’s rosy, and sunburnt face.

Barbara nodded waiting for the inevitable comment, and rolled her hand in a gesture of ‘alright get it over with’.

“Holy cow, babe.”

“I know.” accepted Barbara.

“There’s this thing called sunscreen.”

“I know!” her hands flew into the sunny sky, “One day! I forgot to put on sunscreen for _one_ day!”

“What SPF was it? 20?”

“50!!”

At this James laughed and kissed Barbara’s warm cheek. “Spicy.”

“Har, har. Come on, lets bring your stuff inside.” Barbara moved to take up the rolling carryon bag. “It’s bound to be a very interesting can.”

“To say the least.” mused James with a mild grunt as he tugged at his bag.

“Well, I hope you don’t mind a few stares. Luckily we’re staying on the first floor.”

“How are you and Anna affording this? It’s like..whoa.”

Barbara gave a modest smile. “We were super lucky. The school reached out to local home owners to see if anyone wanted to host foreign students, and one of the families we paired with is..well..pretty well off to say the least. I’m not sure if they own this _whole_ building or not. But they usually rent out the space Anna and I are at to visiting tourists. In fact it would have been rented out now if it wasn’t being worked on, and their daughter wasn’t working out of the kitchen for delivery pastry chef thing. ”

James paused on one of the stone landings, looking up at a tall magnolia tree who’s leaves barely moved with the lack of wind. Towering just higher than it was the building in question.

“You said, uh, first floor, right?” reiterated James.

Barbara laughed and nodded. 

“Come on, after this I know a place where we can grab some coffee. Oh man I’m so excited you’re here James! There’s so much I can’t wait to show you!!”

“Coffee.” went James, already a little out of breath, “Would be nice.”

Coffee would quickly become a welcomed escape as the daughter of the building owners was noisily working in the kitchen. James barely caught her name over the sound of the mixers.

They briefly shook elbows, as her hands was covered in dough, and stained with sugar paint.

When James and Barbara were back on the hot streets again, James breathed a sigh of relief, welcoming the returned quiet.

“I think that worsened my headache.” admitted James.

“Well hopefully the coffee might help, I’ve some tylenol in my purse somewhere.” Barbara paused and started to rummage through the receipt filled bag. How she found anything inside was a miracle in itself.

“No.” went James growing impatient for something cold with the heat, “We’ll look for it later, thanks. Let’s go.”

James pulled at Barbara’s elbow despite her mini protest, and not knowing where he was supposed to go.

“We could always go lay down in the park. It’s quiet and big, and James! The road!!”

They had crossed the road without looking both ways, and was dodged by a skidding vespa driver while the car behind it halted with a firm stop. Luckily they weren’t the only two crossing the street so haphazardly. In fact one or two more people were doing the same thing.

One of which was an incredibly tall man with a falcon like nose.

When Barbara, out of panic, refused to move forward, the car started to honk.

At this the hooked nose man gesticulated to the honking car. Both he and the driver raising voices and waving hands.

“Barbara, come on. We’re in the middle of the road.” went James feeling embarrassed.

Barbara let out a sigh, and slowly opened one eye then the other. “Right. Right.” she said trying to force herself to move again.

“You’ll feel better after coffee.” insisted James.

“Right. Right.” went Barbara distantly. She tried to ignore the approach of another noisy vespa.

Finally the two moved on.

The hooked nosed man watched them, walk off.

For the briefest moment, he and Barbara made eye contact.

There was nothing special about the eye contact, nothing magical. More along the lines of making eye contact with an interested yet indifferent cat, than the contact of a set of eyes that would see each other with growing frequency in the days to come.

The cafe Barbara had in mind for coffee was far more crowded than James anticipated.

Perhaps it was the hour of the day, but the bar area of the cafe was packed with people of all sorts calling for a coffee.

From the business man, to the dentist, to the banker. All shoulder to shoulder talking loudly.

Barbara’s eyes lit up at the sight, enjoying the lively display. Adoring the little order there was as people called out to the baristas. Some knowing them by name smiling and grinning. The barista reaching out from behind the bar to clasp hands with patrons. An occasional light cheek slap and congratulations for who knows what.

It felt far more enjoyable, and filled with character, than the calm touristic areas.

“Okay.” went Barbara, feeling as though she had gotten the rhythm of slowly making her way to the counter without feeling bad for cutting someone or being cut. As lines were easier drawn in sand than maintained. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll grab it for us.”

“What?” went James trying to hear himself think.

“I said tell me,”

“I know what I want.” said James with a side eye at a patron who pushed passed him.

“That’s good!” went Barbara helpfully. She resisted the want to wring her hands. Hoping James’ patience would hold out. “Then what?”

“I’ll order.” declared James walking off.

Barbara sighed and nodded acceptingly. She moved to sit herself at one of the tables, and rested her chin in her hand as she looked at the world outside. Bustling despite the heat.

Watching as people lazily spoke and leaned on street signs. How friends of every and any gender would clasp each other in a hug and kiss cheeks. Personal space was a vague concept.

It brought a smile to Barbara’s face. With it came the idea of being able to share all the aspects she had come to love about this country with James, and Barbara’s smile widened. Head swimming with possibility and laughs.

Her thoughts bursted when she distantly heard James raise his voice to one of the baristas.

Instantly Barbara started worrying her lip. She wrung her hands, and contemplated sitting there, and perhaps even pretending they didn’t know each other.

But with a particularly raising tone, Barbara thought it would be best to intervene.

So, leaving the little table by the window, Barbara entered into the fray to try and figure out what had happened.

Around James were various people amused or indifferent to the plight of this visiting tourist who ordered a “latte” and received a glass of milk for his efforts.

“No! This isn’t what I ordered.”

“You ordered latte?”

“Yes.”

“OOooh!” went the Barista smirking under his mustache despite the raising sighs of his coworkers who just wanted to get the rush over with. “Latte! This is!”

“This isn’t what I ordered.” insisted James.

“Daijie Salvo. Lascialo sta.” went the other barista elbowing the mustached one before taking an order.

Barbara assessed the situation quickly. And if she perhaps had a quieter atmosphere, and felt less stressed she perhaps would have happily tried to test what little Italian she knew. Awkwardly she wiggled her fingers in hello to the two barista’s.

But the crease on James’s forehead troubled her, and quickly shooed what small smirk she had on her face.

“James.” she said softly pulling at his sleeve to get his attention. “James let me-” she pointed to a laminated menu. “I think you’re trying to order this-”

“It’s fine.” assured James in a way that made the two barista’s look at each other. “I got this.”

The one that instigated the goof, Salvo, felt less inclined to help then.

And so Salvo and James continued on with their discussion or latte, and milk.

Barbara stepped back feeling mortified, and stepped on someone’s foot in the process.

“Attenzione.” said the owner of the aching foot, sucking air through his teeth.

Barbara turned, turning redder than she already was in the process.

The first thing she saw was a pale blue linen shirt, and had to lean back some to look into the persons’s face. The blue linen made the person’s olive toned skin pop.

Barbara barely recognized the man as the person from earlier with the aquiline nose that crossed the street with her and James.

“Oh I’m so sorry!” went Barbara.

“No no.” went the man with understanding, smelling of cigarettes and lemon. “Scusami tu.”

Barbara helplessly smiled.

The man gestured his hand around and explained the complexity of how it’s understandable, and expected, that in a small crowded space stepped on feet were bound to happen with, “It’s crowded.”

“Oh!” Barbara placed a strand of hair behind her ear, “Right, yes.”

“Barbara I think we should find somewhere else.” went James turning in unrest.

“What?” gasped Barbara feeling a little balloon inside her popping. She so wanted to share her experience here with him. “But, I’m sure we can figure something out. Look if you’d just point.”

“They’re rude here.”

“James, come on. It’s clear he’s pulling your leg a little. This is Italy, not a Starbucks.”

“Who gives someone milk for a latte?!”

Barbara noticed the tall man followed the conversation with such a stillness of eyes Barbara wondered very briefly if perhaps he knew what she and James were saying. Though sometimes she felt the same way about Anna’s cat.

“ _James_.” went Barbara with a desire to hush him and not draw more attention to themselves. “Latte means _milk_.”

“Wha-” but the rest of what James had to say was lost to the crowd as an old patron shuffled her way between them. Pushing James back closer to the counter.

Barbara looked around and smiled apologetically to anyone who would look back at her.

“Ma,” went the tall man, scratching the side of his large nose. “e il tuo fidanzato, questo?” he gestured to James with a nonchalant nod.

Barbara scrunched her brows. Sure she was dating James, but she hadn’t even considered the prospect of being anyones fiancé.

The tall man shook his head as if remembering what language to speak, looking almost strained and exasperated by having to pretend. If he was pretending. “Boyfriend?”

“Oh! Yes.” Barbara looked back at the frowning James. “Yes.” she said again. The corner of her lips drooping ever so slightly.

The tall man nodded understandingly and shrugged with a non comitalair of ‘Ah well. Patience.’

Barbara sighed, and wished the whole situation would end already.

While she looked down at her sandaled feet the tall man looked upward. Sharing an internal debate and conversation mentally with the ceiling.

“Ahimè.” he said at last. Already kicking himself for intervening as he stepped forward.

James looked so short in comparison. “Ah Salvo! Quando finerà questo puntata di Fantozzi? Che lo gia visto.”

“OOH! Ah Grillo! Come stai?” smiled Salvo with a hearty laugh.

The two clasped hands and shared more words in such a strict dialect Barbara was barely able to follow.

It was clear the tall one, Grillo, wasn’t from Rome. Their dialects clashing in harmony like a chiaroscuro painting. Grillo who’s Italian was full of breathy exhaled emphasis, filled with hanging irony. As opposed to Salvo’s half eaten words that didn’t so much as tumble but rolled out of his mouth like a citrus spray of zest.

Grillo leaned forward and waved at the other barista, Gloria. It was from their exchange it became unclear if Grillo was _really_ the tall man’s name, his last name, or a nickname.

Perhaps it was all three.

“Excuse me.” went James.

“No no.” smiled Grillo like a yawning cat, “‘scuse me.” he turned to Salvo thumbing at James in the process. “Guarda Salvo, mi fai un frappè al caffè per questo. Un, aspetta,” ‘Grillo' turned to Barbara who’s jaw dropped expression was lost in her sunburn and framed red locks, “To drink?”

“Oh!” Barbara was so taken aback she nearly forgot her own language. She tried not to look at the expression James had on his face. “A macchiato.” squeaked Barbara adjusting her large circular glasses. “Please.”

Grillo nodded gallantly and turned back to the barista, also ignoring James’s expression. “Due macchiati.” he explained with thumb and index finger.

“Ah volo Vale.” nodded Salvo.

“Can you believe this guy?” went James when Barbara approached.

“Don’t be rude.” she chastised. She turned to the tall man with a relieved sigh this didn’t end in some sort of machismo fight. “Thank you.”

Grillo shrugged with casual airs, feeling his generosity was the bar minimum anyone would do to help get their own coffee expedited faster. “No problem.”

“I’m Barbara.” she continued, feeling some sort of cordial coffee comradery, “and this is James.” she gestured.

James was eyeing the glass of milk that was still on the counter like it was a bad memory centuries old.

Barbara grinned awkwardly. “I’m studying here, he’s visiting.”

Grillo nodded along as Barbara spoke, then furrowed his brows and shook his head as if suddenly remembering how much English he ought to pretend to understand.

“Valerio.” he said with a nod and turn of hand to gesture to himself.

It was at that moment the coffees were brought towards the three of them. Placed side by side, and slightly scrunched like the parked cars outside.

The barista stared at the lone glass of milk expectantly. Not wanting to throw it away.

“Mo?” went Salvo, “Che ci fa?”

“Well I’m not going to drink it.” said James with an educated guess. He took up his cold drink with both hands.

Barbara looked up from behind her tiny porcelain cup. Her brows popping suddenly aware of a new tension brewing in the air. She nearly choked in her attempt to stumble a response.

Valerio ‘Grillo’ stretched a lanky arm to gently pick the glass up, and drank it all down with a satisfied smack of his lips.

The rest of the coffee drinking passed with relative calm. Grillo was the first to finish his drink, and said his goodbyes with a distant finger wiggle and an almost English sounding “Ta~” that would have drawn suspicion if Grillo hadn’t started half singing ‘Volta la Carta’ by Fabrizio de André.

Barbara’s eyes followed him as he passed the windows. Walking tall and lanky, like a well dressed cricket.

When it came time for Barbara and James to pay, the barista Gloria would then explain that their check was already taken care of.

And so began Barbara’s very curious final week in Rome.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which lunch is had, and a conversation with an old man makes things interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! During WWII it wasn't uncommon for Americans to offer their services to the British Air Force, especially before America entered into the war. 
> 
> Aside from that still no translation notes yet, and for that I apologize. Though if I did my job right certain scenes are still understandable even without knowing what the characters are saying. Or at least get a feel of the intent, like when visiting a country one doesn't 100% know the language of  
> Feel free to let me know what you think!
> 
> All the same I'll be sure to come back (hopefully sooner than later) and translate
> 
> In the meantime, Enjoy! ♡

For their lunch break between classes, Anna and Barbara decided to grab a sandwich at a near by bar (or so it is called a ‘bar’, in a more American vernacular it is also the equivalent to a cafe ) on Via Nomentana.

It was larger than the coffee place that Barbara and James went to. Yet it still felt compact with as many small squared tables as a medium sized room could fit.

On the walls there were cheap photos. By all means, they were nice and fun to look at. Filled with locations from all around the world. From Paris to Tokyo to New York City. All in black and white, in that chic attempt to add an air of mystery to such universally well known places.

Upon entering the cashier, Marta, smiled. Looking away from giving change to a patron to say, “Ben tornati ragazze!”

This was said more to Anna than Barbara. Both Barbara and the barista behind them knew why, despite Marta’s and Anna’s blushing.

In disgruntled awkward smiles Anna made her orders, and Barbara’s.

Barbara went to grab hold of a table, and Anna held back to chat with Marta until their sandwiches were ready. Chat as well as anyone can when not 100% fluent in another person’s language, yet still very interested in the other person’s thoughts and opinions.

An interest that was obvious to everyone but the two chatting glowing with interest.

Barbara smirked, and moved to collect their sandwiches when it was ready. Politely clearing her throat to indicate to Anna the sandwiches were ready.

Anna laughed a little louder than usual, and Marta quickly busied herself to wipe down part of the counter she had already been wiping during their whole conversation.

Barbara wiggled her brows at Anna, and Anna clicked her tongue with a singular smiling comment, “Oh shut up.”

At this Barbara imitated Anna’s earlier laugh, and left it at that.

A few bites in to their sandwich Barbara noticed they were being stared at by an elderly gentleman of perhaps 90. His presence framed by the bar’s large window.

His gaze was a distant sort, that saw but didn’t quite register what he was seeing. If anything what he saw would go through a slight filter. Seeing the present while simultaneously seeing the past.

The old man’s mouth opened and closed. Barbara wondered if perhaps he was hungry, or perhaps remembering a time when he too could eat sandwiches with ease. Yet the old gentleman’s gaze would slowly trail to outside the window.

All with the calm of a slow river he scratched the side of his cheek, and nodded. Agreeing to an unknown internal discourse.

As Anna and Barbara discussed their latest classes the old man turned, and pointed at them with a spark in his eyes.

“America?” asked the old man with a learned English.

“Oh um.” went Barbara, “Yes.”

“OoOOoh!” sighed the old man. He made a gesture to clap his hands together, but remembered he only had one arm. The old man frowned briefly. Then looked back at Barbara and Anna, registered their existence, and smiled “I like America. Durante la guerra, they come and ask, ‘Do you have gasoline?’ ‘Chewing gum?’ ”

“Really?” smiled Anna encouragingly.

“ ‘Chocolate?’ ” smiled the man. He looked to the side and nodded remembering a particular transaction. “ ‘Chocolate for gasoline?’ ”

Barbara and Anna, who’s scope of the war was that of text books and certain documentaries, nodded attentively.

“It must have been hard.” went Barbara.

The man’s smile faltered a little, time passed as he registered what Barbara said, then slowly, he smiled. “Oh yes. But then, life will always be hard.”

“Oh.” went Anna, unsure what she was anticipating for a response.

Barbara chuckled politely.

“Do not tense.” went the old man, knowingly. It was unclear if he was relishing the awkward state he had placed the two young ladies. Then continued, better explaining himself, “Face it with certainty. No matter what life will have its own hardships. We might as well make the best of what we have in front of us.”

“Oh!” went Anna before looking down into her sandwich. “Dang.”

“You’re right.” nodded Barbara, a little unsure what more to say.

The old man beamed. Proud of himself and the advice he gave.

With a self-gratifying nod he moved to cross his arms, then remembered he only had one. So awkwardly, he scratched his other shoulder instead with a sniff.

For a while silence returned again.

Anna and Barbara talked in hushed tones about their previous classes points.

When they moved on to discussing research done by the University Medical Center Hamburg-Eppendorf, the old man piped up again with a glint in his eyes.

“Hamburgers! Oh! America. Good meat.”

Anna and Barbara nodded politely, then shared looks, unsure how to respond.

“I have an uncle who ranches.” said Anna helpfully. 

Marta arrived with a small espresso, and presented it to the old man. With a pressed kiss into his forehead she said, smiling “Nono, che combini? Non vedi che stando provando di studiare?” She then looked at the girls, and gave a gesture of sorry and thankfulness. “He likes to talk.” she appeased.

Barbara and Anna started to rush to explain that this was quite alright, that they didn’t mind it at all, when the old man interrupted with, “And he can still hear!”

Barbara bit her lip to repress a nervous snort. Anna covered her face with a smile.

“Hai ragione.” patted Marta smiling with a little embarrassed blush.

The old man went to finishing his scalding hot espresso, with a masterful gulp. Satisfied with the drink and response.

“We really don’t mind.” insisted Anna, intently.

Marta’s blush deepened a little more, and the two chuckled nervously.

The attraction was so blatantly obvious that even Marta’s grandfather wheezed a laugh.

“Ma che te ridi?” went Marta, with a hint of embarrassed defensiveness, and a new shade of red on her oak-y tan face.

“Niente, niente.” said the old man, with a knowing smile. He then turned to Anna, observed her, and nodded. “She has bright eyes.” he told Marta approvingly.

Marta seized up a little. Coughed and said, “Enjoy you three.” before quickly hurrying away.

Anna downed the rest of her water bottle and hurried herself off down a set of stairs that led to the restroom.

“My granddaughter.” started the old man, “So big of heart and mind. But so narrow of sight.”

Barbara considered his words, and wondered if she understood what he was saying before nodding and said, “Yeah. Anna’s always…a bit tentative to things like this.”

“Pazienza.” said the old man with a shrug.

Busily Barbara brushed some of the crumbs into a little pile as she thought. “Patience.” she repeated. Then frowned, “Only we have a few days left here in Rome before having to go back.”

“Back where?”

“America.”

“Ah!” the old man paused, sniffed, then said again with better understanding of what Barbara meant, “Ah.”

“There’s only so much time.” explained Barbara. “If they’re interested shouldn’t they jump at the chance?”

“Anche l’amore ha i sui ritmi. I sui stagioni.” he explained.

Barbara bit her lip, racking her brain with some translation gymnastics.

After a small chuckle he explained, “Even the heart has seasons. Crops aren’t always ready. Soil isn’t always ready. The heart isn’t always ready.”

“Oh.” went Barbara, a little saddened by this. Anna and Marta seemed so clearly interested in each other. It felt like such a waste of an opportunity.

Barbara then thought of herself and James, and how the two of them jumped without so much as any hesitation to be together.

After all, if following the metaphor that the heart and love is akin to land and crops, then can’t love be cultivated? Taken into ones own hands to be made possible?

Barbara considered this seriously.

The old man, thinking he saddened Barbara, leaned and patted her hand kindly. A hopeful spark in his eyes. “Non ti preocupare. Se son rose fioriranno.”

Barbara furrowed her brows and clumsily translated, “If, they’re roses, they’ll..um”

“Bloom.” nodded the old man helpfully.

Anna returned with a little skip in her step. Swinging her legs as sat. “Oof. I’m hungry.” she said before Barbara could say or ask anything.

The old man leaned back knowingly. And Barbara nudged Anna some without saying anything more.

It was at that moment a tall man, Grillo was it? Passed by the window, this time dressed in white shorts and a light shirt.

He looked at his own reflection, then saw passed it, inside, did a double take, and smiled.

For a moment Barbara wondered if he, Grillo, remembered their encounter. No matter how brief it was. The thought of which caused an irrational flutter in her stomach.

“That’s him.” Barbara whispered to Anna, gesturing with her pinky finger.

“Wha?” she said mid bite.

“The coffee guy I told you about.”

Anna looked to the window, but Grillo was gone.

Behind them they could hear Marta saying in a jokingly rough way, “Ma guarda che maledizione.”

“Io bòno. Che esagerazione. Come stai Marta? Volevo salutare Daniele.”

“È in fondo.” directed Marta leaning forward as Grillo leaned forward to exchange slight cheek kisses. “Ti raccomando” she warned with a severe look, “non voglio vederlo arrabbiato.”

“Non ti preoccupare.” said Grillo innocently enough.

“Si si.” nodded Marta, disbelievingly. “Nono!” Marta called to the old man, cupping her hand by her mouth, “C’è il Tos- _ha_ -no.”

Valerio Grillo clicked his tongue, and grinned in good humor. “Se lo dici così sembra una minaccia.” He walked backwards as he spoke. Turned on a pivot and smiled at the old man named Daniele. Marta’s Nono.

Watching as his face slowly lit up like a candle with recognition to who was approaching him.

“Gigi!” said the man, stretching out his only arm.

“Quindi vecchio mio?” smiled Grillo taking the hand and squeezing it some before exchanging cheek kisses.

Danielle would pat the back of Grillo’s head some and started to wag his finger.

Grillo, mimicking, also wagged his finger as he sat down across from Danielle, and asked a question that echoed out into a potentially shared past, “Do you have gasoline?”

At this Barbara and Anna shared a look. Not that either of them believed Grillo was one of the people who Daniele was talking about. For starters, he seemed too young to have lived through WWII.

Though, when Barbara stared long enough, despite every pore telling her it was rude to stare, she could see a bit of long lived age in his eyes.

Daniele wheezed a laugh, and the wheezed laugh turned into a cough.

Grillo’s face fell with concern, but smiled brightly when Daniele pointed to the girls. “I was telling them about the gasoline.”

“Oh?” Grilled turned and looked at Anna and Barbara.

Barbara’s pulse sped up some. Irrationally even. With nerves. Unsure if perhaps she should mention the coffee.

Grillo stretched out a hand to shake, introducing himself quickly though not unkindly, “Valerio. Salve, piacere.” he said to Anna then, “Valerio. Piacere, salve.” to Barbara.

“They’re American.” explained Danielle. He then watched Valerio Grillo expectantly.

“Oh!” Grillo re-crossed his lanky legs the other way. “‘Allo.” he nodded. “Your names, sorry? I’m called Valerio.”

“We can understand a _little-_ ” said Anna.

“Mi chiamo, Barbara.” said Barbara helpfully. Not quite rolling her ‘r’s.

“-Very little.” continued Anna with a little snort. “I’m Anna.”

Gracefully Valerio Grillo nodded his head then waved with his index and thumb, “You both, em,” he paused and took the time to find the word he was trying to say by rubbing a bit of his eyebrow and nose, “studenti?”

“Oh yes!” smiled Barbara gently putting her hands together, then hurriedly rubbing the crumbs off her fingers.

“Of medicine.” went Anna with calm. She rested her elbow on the back of the chair.

“How lovely.” he nodded.

Mid head turn to speak again with Daniele, Barbara piped up to say at last. “Actually we met before.”

Grillo stiffened. As if those four words together were absolutely terrifying to hear. His head turned back to face Barbara with a more bracing quality, “Oh?”

“The coffee? Yesterday? Or was it before yesterday? Anyways, with my boyfriend ordering a latte-”

“Milk!” Grillo snapped his fingers at last. “Yes, yes.”he said relieved as if having anticipated the worst. He looked Barbara over again and brightened, “Now I remember, yes. Sorry. I encounter lot of people in my work.”

“Oh that’s okay.” went Barbara, “I could have sworn you were also a student.”

“Great skin care.” he nodded gallantly, with an emphasis on the rolled ‘r’.

The girls laughed.

Danielle, however made a face. Something was missing in the puzzle pieces of the old man’s memory. Or rather, something wasn’t adding up. “No, no…what _is_ this accent?”

Grillo, despite his big ears, did not to hear him. Or pretended to not hear him.

“Where do you work?” asked Barbara conversationally.

Grillo looked like the personification of someone putting their foot in their mouth. He coughed, glanced at Daniele, then the two American young ladies, squinted and said, “I don’t understand.”

Daniele leaned forward and lightly hit against Grillo’s arm, “Non fare il furbo! Si che lo capisci.” the old man then turned to Anna and Barbara again and winked, “He knows English better than me. Don’t let him fool you.”

Grillo gave a faint forced sort of smile, “We all make our fumbles. Language is, very strange.”

Daniele clicked his tongue, offended. “You didn’t speak like this before.”

“In questo sbagli.” went Grillo in perfect Italian, scratching the side of his nose.

“E no! Sei tu che sbagli! Anche se parli meglio Italiano ora.”

Grillo looked as though he were biting back his tongue, then smiled politely back at Anna and Barbara in a show that there was nothing to be concerned about.

“In fact it was him who taught me.” insisted Daniele.

“Oooh.” went Anna and Barbara in helpful unison. Torn between following along, and politely staying out of the drama.

“Big word, taught.” went Valerio Grillo as if trying to diminish something, suddenly very distracted with an itch on his palm.

Anna and Barbara shared looks, in the sort of non-communicative way best friends did without having to speak. With eyes alone an action plan to politely ease out of the rising argument was communicated.

Sensing the tension Grillo coughed and in an appeasing way nodded, “But yes, I occasionally help with English.” he said in a learned accented English.

Danielle shook his head, cheeks reddening. “Not like this, no.” the old man then turned to Barbara and Anna, emerging them instantly into their little bubble. “He spoke much better than this then.”

Grillo tilted his head back with a hearty laugh, “Then? Vecchio mio? _Then_?”

Daniele fixed a knowing stare that made the three of them squirm. The stare of a wrinkled age old turtle who refused to be fooled by a fox. And the fox who didn’t have the heart to keep playing tricks. 

Grillo finally gave an accepting sigh, and waited for the inevitable.

“During the war..” started Daniele.

Instantly Barbara and Anna furrowed their brows. Looked at Daniele’s evident age, then at the _far_ younger Valerio Grillo.

“..There were bombings on near by islands…countrysides…cities..Many of the newer buildings you see are reconstructions. For every modern house, an explosion.”

Grillo pinched the bridge of his nose, brows scrunching together as if the crease between them would press out a memory like a well coiled wet rag. Finally, with a sigh, his face relaxed to neutral, and his gaze drifting out the window.

“I was young, but I remember.” continued Daniele, “The famine, the water. Soulless shoes. Disease. There are no victors. At some point the idea of sides became hazy..” Daniele turned his head and nodded, convincingly, “I remember. My children will remember,” he vaguely gestured to Marta. “And my children’s children will remember. Time of war, and watching your country _rot_ because of a horrid leader.” Daniele then scratched the stub of what was left of his arm, and nodded decisively, “We can’t forget. The lessons.” he then looked at Grillo, “Or the parts we played.”

At this Grillo turned his head back around. His eyes looked hundreds of years away before flickering with a big inhale and gazing at the two young ladies and Daniele.

Valerio Grillo sighed and said, the pain excessively evident as he said, “I’m not Gigi.”

“Bugiardo!” went Daniele slapping the table. “You were there!”

“Ma come? Se sono ancora giovane.” stood Grillo, gesturing to himself.

“Lo so che hai tante maschere. Ma non poi nascondere la verità.” went Daniele calmly as he searched for his wallet. He clumsily opened it and thumbed out an aged black and white picture. “Proof!” he said flicking the picture onto the table.

Grillo stiffened as if suddenly turned into a marble statue.

Barbara and Anna both held their breath, their lunch long since forgotten.

Daniele on the other hand, beamed proudly, and pointed at the picture several times. “You forgot the picture, eh? Go on. Look at yourself.”

Grillo’s face, angled downward, was undecipherable under the shadow of his eyebrows. With courage and patience he bent his lanky body forward and looked into the picture.

For a long time there was a held silence. Then, with his pinky finger, Grillo pointed into the picture. His voice was as hoarse as sandpaper as he said calmly, “That’s my grandfather, Daniele. Not me.”

At this Daniele erupted into a roar of blasphemous statements, and if he were perhaps ten years younger would have managed to have turned the table over as well.

Grillo smiled sadly. Then looked over Daniele’s shoulder out the window to see a very irritable Asian woman dressed in hues of Fuchsia and black. She knocked against the window with her fan, and then slapped her wrist with it in the universal gesture of ‘time’.

“Perdonami Daniele. Devo andare.” went Valerio. He then turned to the young ladies Barbara and Anna. Opened his mouth as if to say something, but only managed a placating smile. Afterwards he turned, though not as sharply as before.

As Grillo left Daniele huffed and sat back down. His fist clenched and shaking.

“Oi!” went Marta raising her hand as if threatening to slap Grillo as he walked by, “ _Una_ cosa! Ho chiesto una cosa!”

“Non ho il cuore di dire che sono una persona che non sono, Marta.” Grillo tried to explain. Not looking at her. “Provo ma…” he looked back over to Daniele. Indescribable words stuck on his tongue.

Marta threw a near empty paper towel roll at him, and from there a quick back and forth erupted that Barbara and Anna couldn’t dream of following.

“È lui.” nodded Daniele to Barbara and Anna. He pointed to the picture for emphasis, “Lo so che è lui. È lì, dentro. Gli occhi non sbagliano mai.” he sniffed, turning the picture as an invitation to look for themselves.

Barbara and Anna looked into the black and white picture. 

The borders were bent with wear and tear and the creases of it having been folded and unfolded so many times made the impression of white lightening on the photo. But this didn’t hinder the detail of the people in the picture.

There were four of them standing out at the edge of a rolling field. Three men and a woman, all of them sporting a stain of some sort. Though due to the photo it was hard to tell the difference between what could be a grease stain, and blood.

Daniele was the easiest to find. A young man, perhaps recently out of school, perhaps younger. With a freshly wounded arm. The stain on the stub was certainly not grease.

The young lady in the photo was dressed as what could be described as a car mechanic uniform.

Then the two military gentlemen; both sporting beaten up and greasy/bloody British Air Force uniforms. One of the men was squat faced and sported not only crutches but a fantastic mustache.

The other, looking all too eerily identical, was Grillo’s supposed grandfather. Tall and lanky like a mischievous cricket. Grinning as if the situation was part of one big situationally ironic joke no one’s come to realize yet. And sporting not only a bandaged arm in a sling, but a bar of chocolate as well.

Behind the four of them was a huge something covered in a tarp which Barbara could only guess to be a hidden fighter plane.

“They crashed.” explained Daniele. “They shouldn’t have survived that fall. But they did.”

“What happened afterwards?” asked Barbara softly.

The lucidity in Daniele’s eyes dulled. Turning his head like the wrinkled turtle he seemed. He nodded vaguely. “But they did.” he repeated. And his mind and eyes trailed out the window.

Barbara went to open her mouth, perhaps to politely insist on something. But the placement of Anna’s hand on her forearm stilled her.

Together they looked again into the picture. The image of Grillo’s grandfather, and all the other people stared back from the past.

The argument between Marta and Grillo subsidized. The two sadly nodding in understanding.

Quietly, Grillo bought a bar of chocolate, and walked back over to Daniele. Placing it on the table.

It was the first thing Daniele saw, his eyes lighting up. Returning to the lucid sheen of before. With a smile that ignited on his wrinkled old features. Like stretched leather.

Grillo smiled, kissed the old man’s forehead, and pressed his own forehead against Daniele’s temple. He then whispered something only Daniele could hear that made the old man’s eyes mist some.

Daniele chuckled, wagged his finger as he did before, and Grillo did the same.

After letting his cheek be pinched several times, Valerio 'Gigi' Grillo said his goodbyes. With hand squeezes and cheek kisses to Daniele. And a warm mock salute to Barbara and Anna.

“Sei l’opposto del Grillo Parlante, sai?” went Marta with crossed arms in a huff.

“È, già.” a self deprecating small chortle followed, and Grillo was gone.

Marta would then come back over to the table to make sure everything was alright, and apologize for any of the weirdness. Which Anna jumped at the chance to say there was no problem whatsoever.

Whereas Barbara continued to stare into the old photo, and occasionally glanced out the window to watch how Grillo and the woman in fuchsia interacted.

There was certainly familiarity between the two. Grillo would go for the usual colloquial salutation of cheek kissing, and the woman would retract like a cat retracts from water. Though not unkindly.

With a few chatting shoulder pats Barbara could read the woman’s lips, saying, “Don’t go local on me.”

It reminded Barbara of how older and younger siblings interacted.

Glancing back and forth between the photo and Grillo, she could spot the misunderstanding the old man must have had.

They _did_ seem incredibly similar. The big ears, hooked nose, the cheek bones and so forth.

The inner scientist in Barbara was _fascinated_. Why if she didn’t know any better even she briefly wanted to believe that Valerio Grillo, and his grandfather were actually the same person. Which would be ridiculous. But then the truth often times can be far too ridiculous to be believed.

Instinctually Barbara sooner thought of far more realistic theories. That the person in the photo was actually Grillo’s grandfather.

Or on a far more convoluted spectrum; the photo was just some fabrication. A halloween stunt. Or a long con of someone trying to take advantage of a poor old man.

Barbara frowned at these thoughts and quickly shook them away. The photo was _too_ old and _realistic_.

The only solution was the easiest one; the man in the photo and Grillo were not the same.

Barbara stared into the photo longer, and then out the window to Grillo who made such a similar expression that it chilled her scientific mind.

Maybe just maybe…

Barbara’s phone started to ring, and pulled her directly from her train of thought. With a glance at the time and who was calling she gasped with a small slap against her own cheek.

“ _James_!”

She fumbled to answer the phone, and quickly stood to her feet to start pacing around the bar with a smile and firing off all sorts of apologizes.

Daniele slow blinked at the scene, and slowly folded up the piece of photo as best as he could with one hand. Then stared back out the window to watch Grillo and the woman in fuchsia walk away down the via.

Quietly he fumbled to open the bar of chocolate.

Marta caught sight of this, and offered to help open it.

With that the four of them sat together to share and eat the chocolate. It was a nice picture to look at, with Daniele kindly teasing his granddaughter. Anna and Marta blushing. And Barbara trying to juggle the conversation and talk on the phone. 

When Barbara did finally get off the phone they cheered with their pieces of chocolate and dug in. 

“Chocolate?” grinned Daniele waving his piece of dark chocolate before eating it, “Chocolate for gasoline?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> " Se son rose fioriranno," is the Italian proverb that Daniele mentions to Barbara, meaning "If they are to be roses they will bloom." 
> 
> The second half of the proverb, which isn't as commonly said as the first half is, "se son spine pungeranno " meaning, "If they are to be thorns they will prick."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost, found, and lost again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! This certainly was one of my more cathartic chapters to write. 
> 
> Featuring a sprig of blasphemy, and a more insufferable than average James, oh! and hands.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy ♡

“Well the biggest piece of advice was to go to Piazza Venezia if we get lost, and from there either take a bus or walk down Via del Corso.”

“Which is on the other side of the river.” James half groaned, squinting ahead at the shimmeringly hot pavement.

“Right.”

“Only problem is.” he turned the map Barbara was looking at to the side, “We. Don’t. Know. _Which_. Side. We. Should. Be. On.”

Barbara sighed and used a great deal of patience to wipe her brow. “We’ll ask.”

“ _Again_?”

“What other option do we have? It can’t be that hard. It _shouldn’t_ be that hard! It’s ONE river!”

Granted it wasn’t just any ‘one river’, but the Tiber, the third largest river on the peninsula. It didn’t so much as weave through the heart of the city, as it curved languidly. 

There was the world’s sense of time passing, there was Rome’s sense of time, and then there was the Tiber. Carving steadily through the earth as it has done for centuries. 

In short, a river with many bridges. Which was made quickly evident every time either of them asked for directions, a local would look up, pause in what they were doing, and vaguely gesture in a direction. 

“Il ponte, il ponte.”

“Yes, but _which_ bridge?” Barbara would ask with a straining smile. 

The heat seemed to be getting to everyone in the city. It looked like an effort for locals to even manage a conversation with one another, and triple the effort to speak with a foreigner. 

Other options were certainly possible, a taxi for instance, but also just as hard to think of during the hottest hours of the day, and limited phone battery to use a GPS. But taxi’s didn’t always offer a cable to charge a phone, and sometimes drivers enjoyed taking ‘the scenic route’ if it meant a higher fair, which is easier to catch and avoid when following along with a phone’s GPS.

Which James was sure to complain about.

Barbara wasn’t sure how much longer she could take listening to James complain. They had already walked for two hours, and although they were rather fun hours, the monuments and palazzo buildings were starting to mentally blend together. 

So much were they turned around that Barbara was positive she passed Castel Sant’Angelo at least three times. And _yet_ \- as is the magic in the city - also managed to _not_ see the Vatican in those three passings, despite the mini city being a mere block over (albeit down a heavily crowded via). 

For Rome had this magic to it, in its twisting roads, nearly nonsensical streets that changed name mid via, the uphill walk that somehow became downhill curve that split into three potential vias- all of which shared the same name with only a bit of Latin and perhaps a saint to indicate a difference. Like the illusion of a spider’s web that was far more chaotic than it lead itself to believe. This lead to the possibility of a whole new city tempo to be able to exist one corner turn away. 

A transformation of the bustling touristy congested near claustrophobically crowded roads, to a road somehow far quieter whispered and muted with a face that would stare out the window to smoke or peek with the same indifference as the alley cat that managed to trapeze from one balcony to the other. 

The magical possibility of being a mere heel turn away from finding something…unexpected.

Barbara, although lost, _loved_ these small moments. These little treasure troves of discovery the city had to offer. But alas, Barbara was far too fixed on her objective of the moment and wanting to show James a good time. 

Luckily though, they were able to be given helpful directions from a newspaper stand owner, who, despite the heat, was eager to show his knowledge of English.

He spoke in a frantically syncopated speech, as if nervous he’d loose the attention of Barbara and James. Barbara, empathetic enough to sense not only this, but James’s growing groans, doubled her efforts to seem receptive to the helpful man. So much so, that in her efforts some of his directions passed through one ear and left the other. 

To which Barbara was eternally grateful when he offered to mark on her map little indications and suggestions…whether they were always decipherable on the other hand…was much to be desired - but she didn’t care, as long as it got them a closer step to ‘home’.

“I think I need new shoes.” James would mention, leaning on a small fountain the height of a bike rack. 

Barbara sighed and held out her hand to collect some of the running water from the fountain. 

She had seen several locals drink from fountains like this. Some refilling their water bottles from it. Others letting the water run over a cloth that would be used to rub and cool down their faces. 

After drinking deeply she rubbed her chilled mouth with the back of her wrist, “You know what I want?”

“One of those segways we saw that tourist group use?”

“No, that’s what you want.”

James hummed and cupped his hands to gather some water for himself as well.

“I want some freaking ice cream.”

James followed Barbara’s line of sight and saw it, the oasis of a hot day, the refuge from scalding stone streets and dusty air, the Gelateria. 

Were there a multitude of them through the city, yes, but it’s hard to take in the finer details of a street while walking and looking for a particular street corner, as opposed to gaze of an idle scan. 

The agreement was unanimous, and agreed on with a nod and a high five before walking hand in hand to the store. 

To the surprise of no one, it was quite busy, filled with people of all shapes and sizes pressing forward, speaking loudly, and pointing at the glass smudging the liquid chalk writing. Luckily there were little signs beyond the glass, but the aesthetic beauty of presentation was expectantly lost to the world - usually by noon. 

Barbara gave a worried eye at James, hesitant to hear any sort of complaint. Luckily, despite the elbow to elbow bustling, James was pacified by the air-conditioning alone. 

After the crowded ordeal of ordering a hazelnut, coffee, and dark chocolate gelato for herself, and a peppermint, stracciatella, and strawberry gelato for James, they were able to find a slightly left alone counter by the window and trashcan for themselves. 

“MmmMMmm” hummed Barbara savoring her flavor choices, “Oooh do I love ice-cream.”

“This is gelato.” said James, in a rushed correcting tone, barely giving himself a chance to swallow his food.

“Same thing.” she chirped with a happy shiver. 

“Noooo it isn’t.”

“Yeeeees it is.”

“Bullshit.” said James between licks.

“I’m serious. It’s, it’s the freaking same. Gelato _is_ ice cream.”

“But its made differently.” 

“Well _yeah_ !” went Barbara, quickly dabbing at some residual lingering chocolaty stain at the corner of her mouth, “Pizzas are made differently from various degrees and locations, but that doesn’t stop them from being _pizza_.”

James turned his head, carefully adjusting his cone. “That’s not the same thing.” 

“Oh it _so_ is! Freaking- look it up. Put the word ‘gelato’ through a translator even.”

“Well, when does one food stop being that food, and turn into another food? Like, the line division is so vague.” 

Barbara tilted her head back mid lick, and groaned to the point of nearly gargling. “James, work with me here.”

“I am!”

“Okay, okay. What do you call a pizza from New York?”

“Brooklyn style.” said James with a very imitation accent.

“But Brooklyn style what?”

“Pizza.” said James with a hint of getting bored. 

“And from Chicago?” 

“Shi-”

“JAMES.”

“Okay! Okay! Deep dish, _sheesh_.”

“Thank you.” nodded Barbara with a little scoot to adjust her seat on the stool. “But a deep dish what?”

“Shi-” Barbara gave James a warning look that made him change his answer, “pizza.”

Barbara pointed at him like a soap opera interpretation of Sherlock Holmes, “Ah-HA! But they’re both still pizza.”

“…I _guess_.” said James, he considered the taste of his peppermint before asking, “Then why is gelato not called ice cream?” 

“That’s not the point!” said Barbara leaning forward, “Just cause you call something, ‘something else’ doesn’t mean that same something transforms in to a totally different thing!! Gelato by any other name is still ice-cream.”

“Except its made differently than ice-cream.”

“James. Just. Just cause I call pizza in america by the name of its different styles doesn't stop it from _being_ pizza - it will be different to how they’re made in Italy _regardless_ \- but. that. still. doesn’t make it not pizza!!” 

“You lost me.” sighed James, now looking at a tourist group gathering towards a building. Some members of said group sported backless flowy garments, and curly hair, and long legs, and accented reds, and-

Barbara, too busy frowning into her meal, didn’t notice James’s line of sight. “Forget it.” she said, disappointed. 

After craning his neck to the side to continue eyeing the tourist group, James said, “What do you think is happening over there? What is that?”

Barbara looked up and turned, took a look at the architecture. There wasn’t much expressing what the building was, as most of it was enclosed by tanning walls. The entrance had a few palm trees and reliefs of cherub faces with wings growing behind the ears. Barbara leaned forward, adjusting her glasses with a squint in a poor attempt to read the yellow writing on the greenish door. 

“Probably a church of sorts - so they’re, you know, doing the obvious I guess.”

“Well a tourist group just walked in.” said James nonchalantly, tossing a paper napkin away.

“Oh…well…maybe they’re looking at the art.”

“You like art.” said James resting his head resting in his palm.

“That I do.” smiled Barbara. 

“Want to check it out?”

Barbara shifted in her seat, feeling a little conflicted, and looking noticeably so. 

“It could be fun.” insisted James. He then brought his hands together and looked reverently up into the high ceiling, “I need to repent~”

“Pfff.” Barbara elbowed him some, “Yeah, repent for your deep dish sins.” before shrugging a casual, “Sure, alright.”

And so they went.

Passing the doorway with the carved cherubs at the top, they entered into a lush courtyard with a pebbled walking path and fountain. As well as even more palm trees. Benches were there for those who wanted to sit and rest. And it became quickly apparent to Barbara that this was a basilica. 

It was the Basilica of San Clemente al Laterano, known famously for its three-tiered building structure. Which Barbara and James were going to eventually learn. In their own way. 

There were little signs beyond the entrance explaining in painful detail with numbers and different languages translated, and an architectural map that; beneath the basilica proper was a 4th-century basilica built on the foundations of a Roman nobleman’s villa (that had been destroyed during a massive fire, the Great Fire, of 64AD), and a basement that served as a 2nd-century mithraeum of the cult of Mithras.

But, as stated, Barbara and James walked past all that. And despite the fact that James spared a glance at the signs, Barbara was too focused in the act of tentatively stepping through the large wooden doors. 

She didn’t need a sign to know instantly this was constructed in the Middle Ages - the byzantine art, intense use of gold leafing, and the wash of yellow and orange hues were signs enough. 

The marble floors had a simple mosaic circular pattern with a square in the middle which used green, deep red, and white, and made for a good echo when walked on.

And while James walked straight down into the nave without hesitation, Barbara hesitated by the door. Taking in how the architecture and curved ceiling made her feel small before the stones. 

She watched how tall windows, so high up she couldn’t physically see them, casted a pool of sun into the basilica, far brighter than any lamp - making the use of leafed gold and yellows all the brighter. Dipped in honey and tinted in orange, enriching even the wood of the benches where people of all sorts sat, and softly spoke, and contemplated. 

As Barbara’s eyes took in the hallowed hall, they rested on the stone basin of holy water on her right. She started at it, contemplatively, with an internal debate. 

She watched a few people pass her, walking sideways to the stone basin, making sure not to give their backs to the altar down the aisle, to dip their fingertips and lightly touch their foreheads. Some making the small sign of the cross on their forehead with the water, others doing a similar combination with an added deep kneel before aisle. Then, and only after then, did they continue deeper into the basilica. 

Barbara watched this with the eyes of familiarity, and distance. As if watching a memory. 

Then, with a little sigh, she stepped deeper into the basilica. 

Fingers and forehead dry. 

She met up with James who was vaguely looking up into the frescos along the wall. They badly needed restoration, supposedly depicting the Universal Judgement. 

“Hey.” said James, offering his hand to hers.

“Hey.” Barbara smiled, welcoming the affection. 

“So…” said James, looking around before leaning close just for her to hear, while eyeing a brunette across the nave “you think this is a catholic church?”

“Pppf.” went Barbara, taking his words at an attempt at a joke.

But James continued to stare.

“Are you…” Barbara furrowed her brows, incredulous “..are you being serious right now? You can’t be. Right?”

“ _What_? It’s just a question.” he deflected.

Barbara didn’t know where the flare of frustration came from, but her patience was lost as she said, in a strained whisper, “Look around you James. Use your freaking eyes, and common sense.” any random direction she pointed in within the basilica was rich with art, and gold, and a 99.9 percent chance of a depiction of the Virgin Mary. “Remember what _city_ we’re in. For all we know- we could be a block away from the Vatican City. Today _alone_ we saw two types of priests, and nun share a three peddle bicycle in the park, _James_.” 

“Maybe they weren’t real-”

“ _Why wouldn’t they be real_? This is Rome, not the Da Vinci Code.”

James shrugged and said, “Benefits?”

Barbara’s eyes boggled, heart aching in unwanted disbelief of what sort of person James was. Surely he was pulling her leg. Surely he wasn’t this…this..

Barbara ripped her hand out of James, and threw them in the air.

“Damn Barbara, don’t make a scene.”

She bit her lip and looked at him once before walking to talk to the closest caretaker of the Basilica. A kindly old woman with two sets of glasses. One that sat on her nose, and the other, perhaps for reading, that hung from her neck.

“Um..Mi scusi, um,” attempted Barbara. 

“Si?”

Barbara’s eyes dashed back and forth, then glanced back at James who was mouthing a ‘ _what are you doing?_ ’ 

To hurry the process of proving her point along, Barbara said, “This church, Catholic?” 

The old woman blinked, and went through mental journey, that was very evident on her face, to find the kindest way of saying ‘ _isn’t it obvious?_ ’ - she decided on a simple, nodding “Si.” 

“Grazie.” 

Barbara speed walked back to the disgruntled side of James, grinning like a hatter, “Tada~ Now I don’t want to say I told you so, but..”

“So?” said James, unimpressed. “You made yourself look like a fool for asking.”

Barbara’s face fell. With a tightening stomach she sighed and said, “Nevermind.” She started to look around the basilica, opting to put some distance between herself and James before they started to argue.

Barbara never liked arguing with James, at least not in public. And argument could ruin their day together, or worse James’s visit. There could be time later to address things. That is, if Barbara had the courage to bring them up again. 

So she walked towards a small crowd.

“Babe. Barb! Don’t be this way.” called James, though thankfully not loud enough for his voice to echo throughout the basilica. 

She ignored him, and walked on. 

The crowd seemed to be gathering around a presented painting which had an art style that was so strikingly different Barbara had a near emotional whiplash seeing it. 

Surrounded by Byzantine art, hosted by the basilica on the paintings tour through out near churches, was a Renaissance painting of a very erotic angel _indeed_. 

Imagine the sensually extended Mars from Botticelli’s _Venus and Mars_ , except it was the archangel Michael. Who, with sword in hand, stood upon a coiling pained snake as triumphant as a well performed act of fellatio. All while orgasmically receiving divine light, bare as can be, with but a painted cloth to hide the archangel’s privates.

Barbara covered her mouth, not scandalized, but certainly with higher spirits. Delightfully amused. A part of her wondered why such a painting was being displayed here, and another part didn’t care. Erotic as it was, it was also very beautiful. With rich colors, and a vibrancy that Barbara could happily get lost in. 

There was also a wonderful landscape behind the archangel, that had shadows from the clouds, save but a few hills that truly shown from behind. 

“Whoa-ho! You think that’s a euphemism?” said James announcing his arrival.

Barbara didn’t answer. She wanted to marvel at the brushstrokes of small distant cypresses. 

“Look. I’m sorry okay? Whatever it is, I’m sorry.” continued James, “It’s been a day you know? I was just joking. And misunderstandings can happen.”

Barbara lowered her eyes, and slowly slid them to meet James’s. As she did so, she considered the possibility that James was right. Maybe he was hopeful the church wouldn’t be catholic for personal reasons, maybe he just wanted to joke. 

James gave a charismatic crooked smile, “We good?”

Lightly Barbara pushed James’s arm as a response. 

James chuckled at that. Catching her hand he gave it a squeeze a few times and stepped closer beside her. 

The micro-fight seemingly resolved, in a sense, Barbara let bygones be bygones and accepted the gesture. Adoring the act of standing next to a boyfriend while admiring a painting. She could have stayed there for hours, happily holding hands surrounded by art. A dream.

And so it was with great longing that after around 2 minutes, James let go of Barbara’s hand. Inwardly she sighed, and battled with the concept of asking to hold hands a while longer. 

Instead, she chose against it, fearful of coming across as suffocating, and yearned for the next time an affectionate act would take place.

Chasing away from how cold her hand started to feel, Barbara dove her eyes into the painting even more. Losing herself in the rich colors. Soothing herself in the composition.

Barbara didn’t know for how long she stared, brow wrinkled and concentrating. Nor did she know for how long she was standing there, alone. 

For somewhere along the time Barbara silently admired the painting, James had quietly left her to observe other things. The crowd had depleted around the painting. And another figure stepped quietly forward, tall as he was, not even his footsteps announced his arrival. Slinking with the swagger of a cat after a pleasant sunbath. 

A subtle amount of time had passed when, entirely unprompted, and a mind still happily absorbed within the painting, Barbara said, “You know what I think of when it comes to art like this?” 

The tall figure turned in surprise, then looked around to see if Barbara was speaking to anyone in particular. 

It couldn’t be _him_ that she was speaking to, surely. 

“I always feel this mixture…I don’t want to call it guilty. And it’s certainly not feeling guilty about looking at the kind of art. But specifically beautiful art in a church like this one. Maybe a hyper awareness is the sort of word I’m looking for, regardless, it always reminds me that this, this here- well it was probably commissioned. Someone asked for this to happen, and paid someone to make it possible. And now its _here_ , in all its divine erotic glory. To exist and be seen by all who can manage to see it.”

There was no one standing on the other side of her either. And for all intents and purposes she carried on, passionately, before the painting.

“Like just look at how the index finger and middle finger frame his nipple! It’s…delicate, and…so, so _human_. Like, sure, this was more likely than not a priest’s way of getting some racy material of their favorite angel - cause holy orders or not he’s human. 

“And maybe, there’s this continued search of the divine _in_ the human. And for some, most likely our holy friend here, it’s the divine in the human that makes the studia humanitatis important. When what could equally be just as true, maybe even _more_ so, is that, it’s the _humanity_ in the human that makes it - well for the sake of a point I’ll just say _divine_ again. That other _something_ that brings us towards open thoughts, and discussions, and arts.”

The tall figure, with an accepting shrug that life is full of curious events, didn't interrupt. But rather, stayed, and merrily listened. _Very_ intrigued. 

“With the sheer amount of wealth be it the Medici’s or the papacy of the time, a want to emphasize and rise up classical thoughts, fantastic adventures, and lets face it-” Barbara gestured to the erotic archangel, and said with a healthy dose of mirth, “a lot of _humanity_ to the fore front. But then, it’s not humanism for nothing.” She snarked.

The figure pressed his knuckles to his mouth to keep from chortling. Not wanting to interrupt, or risk derailing Barbara’s thoughts.

Barbara continued. “But that money had to come from somewhere. And that’s where the historical awareness comes in when looking at beautiful art in churches…I suppose…or guilt… or maybe it’s a disillusionment I could never get over. I mean, yes, great trade helped pave the way to the Renaissance. Venice itself was perhaps a master class of tolerance, for the time, because they cared more about the business possibilities…but the crusades still happened. And, if I remember right, even Venice played its part in it.” Barbara trailed off for a moment. So long, the tall figure wondered if he ought to say something.

Yet Barbara continued on, like a mindful balancing act, or having two feet in separate gondolas. “How words of treating others like how you’d like to be treated are conveniently forgotten when imposing your own beliefs…and the slippery unhappy slope than history can show us. How it can affect us even _today_ .” Barbara rubbed her arm, tilting her head, “So…yes it was the art is brilliant and wonderful, and the humanism is a gift, but who _really_ paid for it? History, I’m sure, can give us a full list of names. It’s..almost haunting, well it certainly haunts me. This thought, sometimes follows me…it’s whats made me distance myself from…well…you know.”

The tall figure didn’t know, for he wasn’t the person Barbara thought she was talking to, but he could certainly imagine what Barbara meant. 

“So…yeah that’s one part of the mixture I feel when looking at art like this.” said Barbara, “And the other is…well…just look at this saucy dude! Look at those amazing curls! Its just…it’s gorgeous.” Barbara sighed, letting her arm drop away. “Anyways, my grandmother messaged me the other day..” she trailed off.

“That is quite a thought train.” said a voice Barbara was not at all anticipating. In fact Barbara was anticipating a far _far_ **_far_** different voice, and a different person altogether. 

With eyes as wide as saucers she turned her head at the person that was most certainly _not_ James. 

“You’re not James.” was all Barbara could say. 

Grillo pinched and rubbed his nose then gave a wordless gesture of ‘ _well, you’re not wrong_.’

“How long have I been…” she looked at the phone, then the painting, then around her for any sign of her boyfriend, then back at Grillo who, apologetically, smiled. “I’m..I’m so sorry.” she said.

Mortified, Barbara looked down at the inscription on the marble floor, marking they were standing on the remains of a dead priest to boot. Her embarrassment made her wonder how soon she could join him. 

“I thought you were someone else.” she explained as soft as a church mouse.

At a loss for words Grillo contemplated softly stepping away. Though with a quick scan of his surroundings he reconsidered and sighed with his hands in his pockets. “Eh. It can happen. Not to worry.” silence followed as he awkwardly cleared his throat, “And your points? Very interesting, ma..!” he then snapped a finger, “you’re that girl, the em..” he snapped his fingers again as if that would help his words catch up with his thoughts, “The one Daniele was talking to.”

Barbara slowly turned her head and looked up, and really looked at Grillo again. Actually processing him beyond the mortifying ordeal of realizing she had not been talking to James. “Oh! Oh you’re…Grillo, right?”

“Right.” 

“Are you…eeh, enjoying your stay?” he asked, for the sake of politeness. 

“Oh yes!” she said, almost a little too quickly, “I mean even after spending half the day lost out of my mind like a mouse in a maze but- it’s..beautiful..there’s always _something_ \- you know?”

Grillo nodded with weighty understanding, “Rome. They call her the eternal city - but really she’s an old dog constantly learning new tricks.” 

“Oh.” went Barbara waving a finger, her smile feeling more brave, “I like that. I’ll have to remember that.”

Grillo gave a good humored bow. 

Barbara laced her fingers together behind her. Biting her lip, she realized something, “Why didn’t you stop me from rambling?”

Grillo raised his brows, and paused, unsure. “I liked it.” he concluded simply. 

“Oh!”

“It was…nice. Unexpected sure, but, I have nothing to complain.” Grillo paused, and allowed himself to admit, “It was…touchingly vulnerable. I appreciated it.” oddly shying away from Barbara’s brightening face he added, “Even if I wasn’t the intended…ehem, listener.”

“Thank you.” she said with a pink tint to her cheeks. Relaxing even more in this person’s friendly presence. 

A natural calming glow even, that not everything is as bad as believed. 

Or was it the natural air of finding opportunity no matter how small the situation was?

Opportunistic can sometimes come across as such a dirty word. But it could also mean finding a friendly situation at a bus stop with a late bus. The time to grab coffee with someone. An extra cigarette’s length to stay with a friend before going their separate ways. 

After all, opportunity and serendipity could be classified as friends. They certainly weren’t strangers. 

And although Grillo was a character of opportunity in even the ugly senses yet to be discovered, he too, clung to a few more seconds of sunlight like a cat on a windowsill.

He bowed his head minimally, cleared his throat, then gestured around him as he spoke, “So, are you..um..” even before he asked it, it felt like a silly excuse for an extended conversation, “ah…catholic?” the word came out as if it fist fought between saying catolico and catholic in his mouth. Grillo quickly closed his eyes, simultaneously scolding himself and putting his foot in his mouth.

But Barbara didn’t take offense, instead she fidgeted and scrambled to fix her hair that didn’t need fixing. “Oh well..” her mind raced between the option of a long winded explanation, or a simple response. She chose a polite mixture, “Not anymore, no…”

“I see.” he nodded. Then he quickly added “It was probably rude of me to ask, I-”

“-No! That’s alright. I understand. I mean with the way I was going on about the painting, and just..well..look where we are.”

Grillo didn’t turn to look around as Barbara did, but kept his eyes on her, and smiled. Appreciating the enthusiasm. 

What Grillo didn’t anticipate was how Barbara would whirl herself back around to face him, in a way that she had to catch her nearly flying glasses. “Surrounded by so much art!” She made a strangled sound as she gestured to a fresco of The Madonna and Child, how despite flaking, endured the test of time. “Those eyes! The elaborate hat!”

“Diadem.” Grillo offered, in a whisper, almost hoping he wouldn’t be heard and simultaneously apologizing his inability to stop himself.

“ _Diadem_!” Barbara repeated in full thankfulness, voice louder than his, “The intricate pearls and jewels!! and just!! Just look at this!!” continued Barbara pointing to the painting in front of them. 

Grillo wasn’t sure to laugh his nerves off, or embrace the wave of excitement that was now exhuming from Barbara. In a grab to be comedic he silently gestured to his eye, then the painting, silently asking if Barbara meant the one she was so obviously about to gush over. 

“Those feet!! The veins! The toes over the coiling snake! Like!!” barreled on Barbara, not noticing Grillo’s smile that transformed more and more from ironic to genuine. “Can we talk about those veins?”

“Please.” he gestured forward, not unlike how someone would happily hold a door open for another. 

“It’s just…so faint, yet so clearly there!!”

Grillo nodded attentively. 

“But just…” said Barbara her excited arms dropping to her side with awe, “the shading and colors, the attention to muscle, and the small window of landscape often times found in the background of the subject, like a tiny window the artist had the chance to express themselves within their paid commission. It’s just so…” Barbara sighed, unable to find the words. Her eyes lingered on how a painted stream of light seemed to illuminate the angel. Like a source of light that played with interior and exterior, what it meant to shine even from within. 

“So many beautiful things came from this time period.” said Barbara at last.

Grillo rubbed his chin with agreeing consideration. Yet somehow looked like he was hesitating in saying something more. But the want to not rain on Barbara’s enthusiasm was far too great. 

And so he smiled, and truth be told, it was an ernest smile as he said, “You’re not wrong. Good things were certainly created in such a turbulent time.”

“Great things.” said Barbara, “Despite it all, something wonderful bloomed.”

There was such a weight to Barbara’s words, that it gave Grillo pause. As if he had to take a moment to weigh invisible _somethings_ within himself. 

“I probably sound like I’m backtracking from what I previously mentioned.” said Barbara “You know this could be a very interesting start on a paper on mindful appreciation.”

It wasn’t until Barbara turned her gaze back at him that Grillo realized he was holding his breath. He also realized just how blue her eyes were, as if rediscovering a cobalt sea.

With a quick swallow Grillo grasped for words, not completely hearing himself, “You sound like a friend of mine. She too loves the Renaissance with all the passion of someone who’s never lived through it.”

“Oh?” started Barbara with a small challenge in her tone, yet not unkind. She leaned forward to the side to get a better look at him, “And you have?”

Grillo gave a wry sort of look, and tilted his hat forward over his eyes in a smooth move of nonchalance, “I wouldn’t know, I’ve lost my watch.”

“Pff. A-huh. Alright.” said Barbara. A small pause followed, or rather was shared. Like a soft cushion. Or a scooted over beanbag. “So…” continued Barbara. She cleared her throat as Grillo did earlier and asked, mirroring his earlier gesture, “are _you_..you know…?” the word catholic lingered in her question mark. 

Grillo pointed to himself, then back at at the painting, “Un angelo? Not likely, no.”

Barbara ran a hand over her face, hiding the smile that really never stopped being there. “Ooooh my Goooooo-”

“Ah-ah!” he interjected before she could finish the word, “Le bestemmie no.” he said in false seriousness, waving in a vague gesture around the basilica as if it would call the eyes of the byzantine art to help add to his statement.

She clicked her tongue and shook her head with the only thing she could think of being, “Good grief.” her smirk still there for all to see. “Sorry, that was probably rude to ask.” Barbara quickly added. 

Grillo waved his hairy hands humbly, “Oh, no. It’s alright. Truly. I was, erm, joking. Besides, I asked you too.” he said, “Comunque no, I’m not catholic.” at the end there was a small tail-end of a chortle, that, unbeknownst to Barbara, carried a Pre-Christian air to it.

“I _suppose_ that would explain the hat inside.” said Barbara with a coy smirk.

Grillo quirked his head, unsure what she meant. He blinked a few times before apologetically taking his hat off altogether with a small nod to not only Barbara, but the erotic angel they were in front of.

This earned a smirking “Good grief.” from Barbara. 

Together they re-entered a silence, and stared at the painting. 

“It’s not unheard of for a church to be appreciated and visited as an art museum.” reassured Grillo. Refilling the void left in their mutual awkward pause.

“Yeah..” went Barbara eyeing the gold leaf byzantine architecture and intricate frescos of the wall. “The best of all possible art, am I right?” she thumbed. 

Grillo stared at her, squinted even, and when Barbara started to bloom a wry smile - he too smiled as well. “Si Dieu n’existant pas, il faudrait l’inventer.”

It was now Barbara’s turn to amicably squint.

“If God had not existed, it would have been necessary to invent him.” he translated.

Barbara placed a hand over her mouth, her dimple creasing deeper beneath her palm. Eyes darting around to scan if anyone had overheard them. 

“I thought it would be nice to match Voltaire with Voltaire.” explained Grillo.

“Oh I caught that. Very well - almost pretentiously done. Just wasn’t ready for it in a church.” Barbara grinned with a light little elbow nudge. “True Voltaire-ian spirit I suppose.”

“Certamente.” Turning his hat in his hand, Grillo found himself surprised as he gestured to the wooden pew behind Barbara, “Would you care to..ah, sit?”

Three fingertips slowly floated up to Barbara’s cheek, like a soft puffy, “oh!”

“Because of the walking.” Grillo heard himself backtrack, with a quick excuse, “You must be tired.” He then gestured to the painting then at Barbara, specifically her shoes, “Your feet, and veins, you know?” 

Barbara had to physically restrain herself from hiding her face in her hands and blushing as red as her hair. And although she could stop herself from hiding her face, she couldn’t stop the blush slowly blooming beneath her pale, yet sunburnt skin. 

“Aaah! I see what you did there, clever.” Barbara said in an attempt to be smooth. 

With that, she accepted the offer to sit. Scooting down, what she believed, was a wholesome distance. 

Grillo followed, hat in hand, and sat at a perfect hat’s distance. Which he knew because he placed his hat there between them. 

Then overthought the possibility that, that might be rude, and so took it back in his hands, then quickly became tired of holding the hat and placed it in this lap, then his hand again, then his head ( before quickly remembering that too was rude), and decided to end the whole dance by placing the hat on the opposite side of him. Near the pew’s edge. 

Barbara watched the whole ordeal without saying a word. Her cheeks becoming rosier with how surprisingly quirky and endearing it all was. She had to bite her lip to almost remember herself. 

To quickly do something with her hands, she reached for a pamphlet. 

“Well…” went Grillo bowing his head to the side with an ever growing smile, his hand rubbed his earlobe- which risked turning pink, “whatever higher power does exist, I’m sure they have a healthy dose of good humor.”

“Oh I’m sure.” she snarked, then said in the same air of a dirty pub joke, “Remember the one with the two popes?”

Grillo snorted despite himself the pew creaked as he shifted his weight forward, and Barbara turned pink. 

The pamphlet in Barbara’s hand by now was twisted into an almost unrecognizable knot, made only equal to the knot of her nerves and fidgeting hands. “Your..um, French was nice.”

“Oh! Well..” Grillo cleared his throat, “thank you..”

What would have been another pregnant awkward silence was quickly swelled by the ringing of bells. 

The bells chimed in that ringing magical sort of way, religious or not it was one of Barbara’s favorite things to hear, and had been a great comfort to listen to during her semester abroad. 

With her head tilted up, her eyes slowly closed, taking in every bong as it resonated into her bone marrow. Echoing inside her as it echoed within the age old basilica. Like a reminder of vitality. Of still bodies that had the capacity to move all along, but just needed a bit of reminding. 

When the lingering ringing of the bells finally receded, Barbara gently opened her eyes, almost heavy lidded. “I’m going to miss that.” she whispered in a sigh to no one in particular. 

Sliding her eyes to the side, and remembering she wasn’t sitting alone, and was able to catch the tail end of Grillo’s staring before it turned into a guilty look of someone caught gazing too long. 

“They’re very beautiful.” he said looking determinedly ahead.

Barbara smiled, flattered. 

Smaller bells started to chime, announcing the start of mass, and those seated began to rise.

Barbara placed a hand over her mouth. Suddenly unsure of what to do with herself. 

“It’s alright.” Grillo said with a level of unexpected kindness that made him wonder just _why_ he so badly wanted to make sure Barbara was at ease. He resisted the urge to put his hat on her head. “We’re not locked in here, we can always leave.” Grillo explained as frankly as the sudden gentleness in his voice allowed. 

It was the conspiratorial ‘we’ that made Barbara blush yet again. She dried off her palms on the side of her thighs.

Yet just as it made her stomach do a cartwheel at his voice, it also reminded Barbara she had initially come here with James. “Oh! Well..” she started as her head turned and her eyes scanned for any sign of her boyfriend.

There were quite a number of tourists, but none were hers. Barbara frowned at the realization that James had left her here without telling her. And imagined him pacing outside with his arms crossed and a complaint he’d drag out unsaid until hours of prodding on _her_ part had passed. 

If she was being entirely honest with herself; it wasn’t an all too appeasing moment to rush towards. She bit her lip, her palms sweating with a growing mixture of guilt and excitement “Are..you staying?”

“Eehhm, well…” Grillo scratched one of his bushy brows, “it’s not the worst of places to reflect.” he then shrugged and gestured forward towards the altar, in a coy sort of way. As if he wasn’t feeling like a cat with a ridiculous sudden burst of energy ready to bounce everywhere. “And I could use the morality lesson.” 

Grillo desperately wanted a stern conversation with himself, this was getting ridiculous. 

Barbara grinned in a way that made her realize her cheeks were starting to feel sore. She bit her lip, closed her eyes tight while pinching into her palm, and made her choice.

In fact, they both made their choice.

Wordlessly, it was agreed upon to stay in each other’s company. If only for a little while longer. 

They bowed their heads, and grinned like a pair of school children into their clasped hands. And despite having an entire pew to themselves, continued to sit together at a hat’s distance. 

While taking this moment to quietly reflect, they’d both politely go through the motions of standing and kneeling and sitting and standing again, so not to draw too much attention to themselves. Perhaps it wasn’t the best course of action, but it did feel less awkward than just sitting there while everyone did the catholic macarena. 

Barbara quietly contemplated, as if apart from her already racing thoughts, if it was a good thing or a bad thing that she didn’t understand Italian enough to properly follow the priest. 

Yet, at the moment, didn’t know how she could possibly concentrate. Her head was buzzing like a beehive.

Especially when, from the corner of her bespeckled eye, a glance was shared between herself and Grillo. 

And then, before Barbara knew it, they had reached the part in mass that Barbara didn’t know she was excited about, or was she nervous? Or was it something else? 

All the same the Sign of Peace was upon them. 

The time where all stood and shook hands with those in nearby pews, and their neighbors. Except they didn’t just shake hands, but embraced and pressed their cheeks against the other’s. A small detail Barbara didn’t remember frequently encountering before. 

And although there were some who didn’t partake in the extra affectionate mile, as it was usually done between those who at least knew the name of the other, they were certainly not the majority here.

Barbara leaned forward and extended her hand and cheek to an elderly gentleman, a lesbian couple, and even the kindly old woman with two sets of glasses from before. The old woman seemed particularly surprised. Her delight made evident by how she motherly patted Barbara’s cheek before embracing her.

Barbara felt dizzy with all the wholesome humanly contact. Was she simply more touch starved than she previously thought? Intoxicated by the lack of restraint in showing affection? The unbridled spontaneity of it all. The sudden engulfment of festivity of each discovered interaction, and the potential of encountering someone new? 

Grillo followed along with the unspoken idea of shaking everyone else’s reachable hand first, smoothly going from cheek to cheek with ease, before all that was left was himself and Barbara. 

They stared into each other’s eyes. 

Unease grasped Grillo, while anticipation of the unknown hung on Barbara. 

This instance easily shared with strangers, suddenly the action felt far too intimate to share between herself and a…half-stranger?

Hands felt much too extreme compared…

And would they too press cheek to cheek?

Was it just her worrying herself about this?

Barbara, unsure, dried her palm. 

She didn’t know just _how_ Grillo was struck by the intensity of cobalt that magnified with Barbara’s glasses. 

And Barbara, found herself realizing that Grillo was not only seemingly kind, but _handsome_ as well. Even with the lingering hat hair. 

There was something….indescribable at how he looked at her, or maybe she was a tad lost in the evergreen gaze, and noticing the faintest existence of a freckle below his eye. 

For a moment Barbara and Grillo almost forgot _how_ to shake hands. Sort of in the same vein of when someone tries thinking about the mechanics of walking, and quickly tripping two steps in. 

Then, of course, there was the intimidation before the intricate vulnerability of reaching out. To grasp at the shared breath, the shared moment, of two beings that are alive at the same point and time. 

Awkwardly their hands extended unusually fast, then upon quick realization, exceptionally slow. In that time alone Barbara felt her hands become damp again. 

Perturbed and feeling strangely self conscious, she quickly pulled away from Grillo’s extended hand for a last minute drying.

She blushed an apology. 

He smiled a reassurance.

And then.

Their hands touched. 

And it was Grillo’s hand was, that surprisingly, damp. In such a way that, subliminally, they shared a surprised gaze.

Like a pendulum, their roles almost swapped. Grillo smiled as if the corners of his mouth were haunted by an apology, and Barbara squeezed his hand reassuringly. 

A smile that quickly passed from Barbara to Grillo like fire ‘jumping’ with the air currents of an exhaled nervous laugh. Which stilled just as dramatically as they looked at the other, as if for the first time. Connected by a hand. 

A century passed in that shared hand. 

The palm’s embrace. 

Barbara felt like how she usually felt when she heard bells echo and bong in the city.

Grillo squeezed his stress, grazing his thumb.

Barbara squeezed back, and readjusted her grip.

The pair of them…hesitated.

Would they? _Should_ they…lean forward - step closer, and present cheeks? As they had done so casually with others? What was it about this prospect that made their stomachs flutter?

People were starting to sit. The moment to press cheek to cheek, coming to an end. 

Or so Barbara thought, as, in a far less smooth manner than with the others, yet still with an air of someone who finds the social act of pressing cheeks an everyday occurrence, Grillo stepped forward and pressed a cheek to each side of Barbara’s. 

Barbara didn’t realize how tightly she was squeezing his hand, or how fast her face was becoming warm. 

What she _did_ notice, were small things. Little details that quickly flooded her senses. 

Like how unexpectedly soft Grillo’s cheeks were. How his perfume lingered on his skin and pores smelling of citrus and cactus figs. Even his hair was softer than anticipated. She imagined it’d be like concrete, filled with hair products, maybe even a little sticky, but no. It was spongy like a voluminous calmed cloud that Barbara found herself _deeply_ wanting to run her hand through. Curious if she would lose it in there.

Such a thought surprised Barbara, but not as much as hearing Grillo’s voice so close to her ear that his breath tickled her.

“Pace.”

“Peace be with you.” Barbara said while pressing into the other cheek. 

No one could tell who’s cheek was warmer. Yet against those sun-kissed olive tones of his, Barbara’s fading sunburn shown like a blushing lighthouse beacon. 

As their cheeks slid apart Barbara and Grillo stared at each other. A strange magnetism occurred. Unmistakable, yet equally indescribable. Like a lingering unanswered question that would haunt the two of them for the rest of the day.

A strange wild question filled with palpitations. Practically irrational in its making. 

Sparked by the sheer humane magic of touch, closeness, and the lingering sensation of someone else’s peach-fuzz having slowly caressed yours.

 _And what of a blessed kiss?_

Neither of them acted on this of course, but goodness did it _linger_. It lingered in the air around them, in their held gaze. It hovered over the pores and atoms between their palms.

Wordless, and only the gesture of a final squeeze as a guide before slipping their hands away. Finger tips past fingertips.

The creaking of a pew in front of them broke the spell of suspension they seemed to have been under. As if returning to the normal passage of time the rest of the world was subject to. 

How much time passed in that moment alone? 

Was the priest staring? 

Were they the last two standing? 

It felt like a lifetime was lived in their hands and cheeks alone. 

They returned seated. Albeit a little less than a hat’s distance apart. 

To the outsider, the pair of them looked like they were both praying _exceptionally_ hard. With foreheads pressed firmly to knuckles, and brows _deeply_ furrowed. 

During the taking of communion, they continued to sit together, with Barbara twirling her thumbs from excess of nerves, and Grillo looking straight ahead as if afraid what a head turn would do. 

Then, Just when Barbara felt like the pew itself would absorb her, the mass was over. Bells were ringing again, and the soft background murmur returned to the basilica.

She raised her purse over her shoulder, making only the slightest of faces when she realized it was certainly heavier than she last remembered. Or was that just the weight of guilt for choosing to sit beside Grillo over going outside to her waiting boyfriend?

All the same, she forgot about her purse and its sudden weight the instance Grillo took his hat in his hands and said, flashing a smile, “Shall we?” He gestured to the large wooden double doors. 

Tipping a strand of hair behind the curve of her ear, Barbara nodded. “Yeah..I should really look for James.”

“I too should try to find my friend.” said Grillo, stepping to the side of the pew and waiting for Barbara to pass him before joining in step with her, “We were,” Grillo searched for a word in the gold of a fresco, “supposed to meet. But ehm, no show.”

“Are you worried?” asked Barbara with eyes that searched into Grillo’s face.

Grillo fanned himself with his hat, “Ma No! No..and don’t _you_ worry.”

Barbara slid her eyes to the side, her sunburn pinking, “Well, alright.”

They walked toward the entrance framed by the large wooden doorway. They awkwardly hovered before the threshold. 

For a moment it looked like Grillo was about to say something, but in the end, he extended his hand, offering Barbara to pass through first. 

Barbara nodded, unsure if she was thankful or disappointed. 

Upon the re-appearance of James, who was hurriedly putting his hands, and a piece of paper in his pocket, as well as another figure exiting from beneath the basilica, both Barbara and Grillo said, “Ah.” It was done in such unison, one might have thought they had both hoped the time together would have been prolonged. 

Yet, aspects of both their lives returned, and with it another slice of ‘reality’. 

“Your boyfriend, I believe.” smiled Grillo, returning his hat to his head modestly, and eyeing the stout figure behind James.

“Yes.” said Barbara. “Do you see your friend?”

“Oh yes.” said Grillo as a toothy smile flashed at him from a distance, a false tooth gleaming in a stray ray of sun. “I would certainly say so.”

“Well…it was nice.” said Barbara, cheeks burning as she felt observed. She wondered if she ought to extend her hand. Would that lead to another cheek press? And would that-

But Grillo took the initiative, perhaps sensing the worried demeanor on the tourist. “Until next time.” he smiled generously. “Should Fortuna will it.”

“Yeah- _yes_ . Next time.” and with that Barbara hurried off, away from Grillo, and the thought of just how much she wanted to say ‘ _I hope so_ ’.

Barbara moved deliberately towards James, meeting him by the reception. A small table hidden away of an easily overlooked corner. 

Instead of wondering how she didn’t see the reception desk before, or the cavernous alcove with a set of stairs that lead beneath the basilica, she worried over how angry James might be at her.

Instead, James was anything but mad. “Barb babe, I think I was nearly party to a drug operation too.”

Barbara blinked with a level of disbelief and monotony, that her words nearly turned to wood as she said, “ _What_?”

“Don’t turn around, but, like, I was standing there next to that discount Humphrey Bogart villain and just..I don’t know.”

“Where did this happen?”

“Below the church - there’s this pagan temple below it that’s open for visitation. I think it’s, like, to Apollo or something.” James shrugged. “I think you would have liked it.” 

Barbara pouted a bit, “Aw, why didn’t you tell me?”

James placed his hands in his pockets, as if making sure what was smooshed earlier was still there, “Got carried away.”

“Oh..well.” Barbara frowned, then felt her cheeks blush guiltily, after all…she too got carried away, didn’t she? “Well…would you like to look at it again?” she asked sheepishly.

James smiled and offered his arm, “Lead the way.” 

As James and Barbara went up to the reception to discuss tickets to descend beneath the basilica, it was discovered James could re-use his ticket. 

While James handled Barbara’s ticket process, Barbara found her eyes falling on the tall Grillo.

It was curious how he carried himself with the stout ‘Humphrey Bogart character’, they seemed like a pair as thick as thieves. 

When the stout figure turned to look over his shoulder, she had the _strongest_ sense of déjà vu. Or perhaps she just needed some water. 

Regardless curiosity got the better of Barbara as he found herself, straining her ears to hear what they were harshly whispering - despite only catching one or two words. 

The stout figure spoke with a particular cadence. A cadence that rose and fell like a swing-set, like melted cheese on a slice of bread over an open fire, like the duality of lagoons beside mountains, and a touch of frost. 

“Eh la! Perché non hai specificato sul quale chiesa avevi in mente?? Era tempo perso, amico, tempo perso.”

“Su via, alla fine ci siamo trovati.” said Grillo with a casual hand wave before pinching his nose to rub it. 

“Tempo. Perso.” the figure pressed with his finger before adjusting his jacket with a “Perbacco.”

“E in tutto questo tempo non hai pensato a cambiarti in un altro abito?" he chortled. "Cazzo fai con questa giacca? Mi sento caldo soltanto vedendoti. _Perbacco_.” 

The stout figure’s mustache twitched in an annoyed fashion, before stretching into a toothy smile, “E tu con quella chicca li? Dai, non c’è tempo per le solite storie, biricchino. Poi essere il furbo con qualcun altro Strik-”

“-Zitta!” Grillo hissed.

“Ma non con me, amico mio.” whispered the figure. *

Their discussion, although with an air of closeness, felt almost…performative to Barbara. But then, there was only so much she could inconspicuously listen in on. 

She was then distracted by a kiss on the cheek by James, as he grinned a, “You ready?”

Barbara took a moment to stare at James, and pressed her hand where he had kissed. 

“You good?” said James, resting a hand on her shoulder, thumbing it lightly.

A small smile bloomed before she gave a vigorous nod. “Born ready, babe.” then, she leaned forward and planted a clumsy kiss on his lips. Rushed and hurried, as if frantic. “Lets see some old rocks!”

James helped adjust her purse and purred, licking his lips, “Think you’d want to try _rolling_ down there?”

“Doubtful.” With an amicable roll of her eyes, and a friendly push on James’s chest, Barbara pivoted, sparing a gaze towards Grillo. Oddly, she wondered if he watched her kiss James, and quickly became furious at herself for such a thought. 

Though by the look of how absorbed Grillo was with his conversation with the stout figure, it was doubtful he could see past his own nose. In the face of work, he became myopic. There were other things more important than random tourists to think of. 

No matter how disarmingly gentle their hands were, and witty their thoughts were, and bright their smile shined into his memory, like the lingering warmth of the sun. 

Barbara and James were about to step down the stone steps, already feeling the damp air rising, when, almost out of nowhere, Barbara stopped. As if she needed one last thing.

“Hang on.” said Barbara pulling at James’s arm, “I want to prove something.”

James looked to the high vaulted ceiling for patience but went along with the pulling. 

“Sorry.” squeaked Barbara, stepping into Grillo and the stout figure’s conversation.

The two figures quirked their heads in a fidgety startled way, that oiled into a smile.

“Yes?” said Grillo

“James, you remember Grillo?” presented Barbara.

“Who?” 

Barbara awkwardly barreled forward, pretending she didn’t hear James or his tone. “Grillo, James.”

Grillo cleared his throat and nodded patiently, “Valerio Grillo. From the..em..latte, remember? …Milk?”

“For fuck’s sake.” Needless to say the whole cafe ordeal was still a sore spot for James. The fact that Anna ceaselessly brings it up didn’t help matters either, and _this too_ ? Whatever _this_ was, James didn’t like it.

Grillo’s grin ever so casually _stretched_. Content in being a bother. 

“Never mind that now.” singsonged Barbara doing a clapping wiggle.

The stout figure clicked his tongue and looked up at Grillo from over his glasses. He then jeeringly imitated the sound of a cricket. 

Grillo smacked his friend’s arm, then, smoothing over the awkward silence gave a toothy presentational smirk, “Ah, my friend, Ottavio.” he then smoothed over the spot on Ottavio’s arm that he earlier hit.

Ottavio plastered a smile and presented a stiff hand, “Piacere.” 

A quick round of stiff hand shaking occurred, which couldn’t have been more different than Barbara and Grillo’s earlier experience, and finally Grillo asked “Is there, ehm, something we can do?”

“Yeah! Yes, sorry. Could you translate ‘gelato’ really quick for me and my boyfriend here?”

“Oh my goooood.” said James. “Are you serious?”

The two figures blinked, somewhat sharing James’s sympathies. 

Their eyes slid to each other to share a look, the sort of look best friends shared when all they needed was a conversation through the eyes to convey ‘is this really happening?’

‘ _is_ she serious?’

Ottavio shrugged and gestured a silent ‘who _cares_ , just do it, and get this over with’

“Uh…” said Grillo, eloquent in his continued disbelief, “I’m sorry?”

“I know, sounds silly. Just, it’s to prove a point.” explained Barbara.

“Gelato?” he repeated as if of all words to be asked to translate this was very low on his hypothetical list of possibility. Appreciating Barbara’s determined gaze he couldn’t help but turn his face from critical to something more sunflower-y “Who am I to stop the search for knowledge?”

“In what language?” went Ottavio, gesturing his arm in a hurrying motion.

Grillo slowly turned his head. His face blatantly reading something along the lines of ‘ _what other language do you think they’d want?_ ’

“Um..English.” said Barbara.

“Ooofaaa” sighed Ottavio impatiently ramming his hands in his pockets. He walked a small circled around himself. 

“Gelato e ice cream.” placated Grillo. 

Barbara slid her eyes over to James, who seemed to mirror Ottavio’s exasperation. “See?”

“Message received babe, can we _go_ now?”

“Yeah! Yeah, sorry, yeah.” said Barbara, though not without a lingering grin of pride.

Grillo smiled at that.

“Thanks.” waved Barbara, pushing James along. She hesitated then. Her eyes sliding to the side with meaning, “And uh…” Barbara placed a strand of hair behind her ear, and looked up into Grillo’s face, “Thank you, for before, for listening.”

Grillo swallowed, then gave an ironic, albeit _fond_ , bow. He almost felt guilty for reasons yet to be discovered. 

Barbara pushed along at James’s back ushering herself and him along. 

“What was that about?” said James.

“Oh…nothing.”

“Yeah?” went James, clamping his hand into Barbara’s like an iron, “Anything I should be worried about.”

“Pfff. Nah.” Barbara squeezed her hand, gripping into the familiar affection she was more used to. “Why do you ask? Anything I should be worried about with you?”

“No.” James lied.

“I know, I know.” Barbara smiled and pecked his cheek with a hum. “Anyways I don’t think we’ll see those two again.”

“Right?” smirked James, unwarranted relief in his voice, “What are the odds?”

What indeed. 

Regardless, Barbara thought to herself, ‘ _if fortuna wills it._ ’

If only Barbara knew.

If only Barbara heard Grillo mutter to his friend through his smiling teeth, as they shared a cordial wave before her descent beneath the basilica.

Without looking away Grillo grabbed Ottavio’s shoulder, stilling him with a reassuring pat, “Non ti preoccupare, vecchio mio. Con ongi possibilitá c’e` uno altro opportunitá aspettando.”

“Si sì- chiude una porta si apre un portone.” Ottavio grumbled with a bored look, “E quindi?” 

Grillo glanced at his friend before giving a meaningful look at the back of Barbara’s head “Penso che ho trovato un altro modo di portarlo…”

“Oh?” Ottavio frowned until the dots connected with an, “…oh!” He rubbed his hands with a giggle.** 

The two of them grinned as dastardly as the cat and the fox (of Carlo Collodi fame).

Trouble was brewing and the summer could only get hotter.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Italian dialogue 1:  
> Stout figure: Eh la! Why didn't you mention specifically which church you had in mind?? This was time lost, friend, time lost.  
> Grillo: Su via (a rather Tuscan way of saying 'don't worry about it' or don't get hung up on it. Don't sweat the small stuff) in the end we found each other.  
> Stout figure: Time. Lost. Perbacco ( slightly old timey way of saying 'good gracious' 'my word!' good heavens ect)  
> Grillo: And in all this time you didn't think of changing into another outfit? Fuck are you doing with this jacket? I feel hot just looking at you. /Perbacco/.  
> Stout Figure: And you with that girly there? Come on, we don't have time for the same old stories biricchino (little mischief maker). You can be clever with someone else Strik-  
> Grillo: Shut it!  
> Stout Figure: But not with me.
> 
> ** Italian dialogue 2:  
> Grillo: Don't worry, old friend. With every possibility there's another opportunity waiting.  
> Ottavio: Yeah yea - close a door and a portone opens. What of it?  
> Grillo: I think I found another way of bringing it...  
> Ottavio: Oh? ...Oh! 
> 
> Fun Fact! The cat and the fox (of Carlo Collodi fame), is in reference to how a mischievous duo, usually up to no good, is often times called 'the cat and the fox' in reference to said characters in Pinocchio. Think of it like being called 'thick as thieves'. Often times referred to a horrendously ominous duo, or a pair of classmates that always causes trouble. Where there is one, the other isn't too far.
> 
> Which reminds me! Uh...you kids ever watched the movie 'French Kiss' (1995) dir. Lawrence Kasdan?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


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